


Placideque quiescas!

by pelinal



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelinal/pseuds/pelinal
Summary: Dina groans. "What about Brother Mudcrab?""Yes, Martin, what about Brother Mudcrab?"Martin heaves a smiling sigh and goes back to reading. It's not a long book—the pages are cut from thick card. Orpheus closes his eyes again."Finally Brother Mudcrab was at home. Mother and Sister Mudcrab welcomed him, and he was happy.""Drivel," says Orpheus under his breath.
Relationships: Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Placideque quiescas!

**Author's Note:**

> just a little snippet of a "martin lives" au to tide me over as i finish my very long fic in which he definitely doesn't live :(

The rocking chair was put there at his request, a great heavy thing of light-colored wood and with all the edges sanded, giving it the impression of a large toy. Orpheus has decorated it since with a beaded afghan—which Martin despises, but Dina approves of—and the odd cushion.

"Then came Brother Mudcrab," reads Martin in his beautiful baritone, "upon a dark shore."

"Oh, no!" cries Dina.

"Oh, no!" confirms Martin.

"What's a shaw?"

"A sho _re_ is the sand at the edge of the water, baby," puts in Orpheus—still rocking—still with his eyes shut.

"Pa! I'm not a baby!"

"Well, stop being so tiny, then."

"Hush," says Martin, trying and failing to hide the smile from his voice. "You're always going to be our baby, Saturnina."

"Oh, cheesy," chides Orpheus.

"Cheeeesy," echoes Dina happily.

"It happens that I don't care," Martin hums, "because it's true." Orpheus cracks an eye to watch him smooth out Dina's long, black hair.

"What's happens?"

"Your father likes to put words in funny places," explains Orpheus.

"Are you quite done?"

"Never quite done, love."

Dina groans. "What about Brother Mudcrab?"

"Yes, Martin, what _about_ Brother Mudcrab?"

Martin heaves a smiling sigh and goes back to reading. It's not a long book—the pages are cut from thick card. Orpheus closes his eyes again.

"Finally Brother Mudcrab was at home. Mother and Sister Mudcrab welcomed him, and he was happy."

"Drivel," says Orpheus under his breath.

"You're welcome to pick next time," answers Martin finely.

"I picked mine! _The Trolls And Their Coals on Sweet-Roll Knoll_ is a work of art. Eh, Dina?"

"Troll and the coals on sweet noll nolls," recites Dina sleepily. "Good-night time."

"Well," says Martin, standing, "a glowing testimonial for the trolls." He presses a kiss to Dina's forehead. "Good night, dearest."

"Pa, too!" demands Dina, hefting an accusing finger in Orpheus' direction. "Pa!"

"Coming, coming. This chair is just so blo—ahem—so darned comfortable. . ." Orpheus pretends to snore.

" _Pa!_ "

"All right! I'm up, baby." This is a half-truth. He still has to peel himself from the chair. "Ugh. Martin."

"You can get out of a chair on your own strength, my Champion. Come on," sighs Martin, taking Orpheus' hands in his own anyway, "Dina needs to get to bed."

"OK, OK." Orpheus rises at last, as the rocking chair continues to rock, but he doesn't let go of Martin's hand. He regards Dina for a moment—Empress Saturnina Septim I, one day, he supposes. Her eyes are Martin's, a startling blue against her warm grey skin, and so is her small, prim mouth. No feature that speaks of Velvassius, but then she has none of his blood. Her mother is meant to be the. . .second cousin of the child of the second cousin of Eloisa Septim? He doesn't ask. "Good night, my Dina-Bina."

"Now you have—you have to, um, say it in Cy. . .lic."

"We're already speaking Cy-ro-di-lic."

"No!" she insists.

"Do you mean _Old_ Cyrodilic, dearest?" Martin suggests, as if he doesn't know that's exactly what she means.

"Yes!" nods Dina.

"Well, I don't speak Old Cyrodilic," Orpheus points out.

"Yes you do, Pa."

"No, I don't, Dina."

"Yes you do."

"I really and truly do not."

"Yes!"

"No, alas."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Enough," Martin cuts in. " _Placideque quiescas_ , my dearest heart."

" _Et tu, papa!_ Now Pa!"

Orpheus sighs. " _Securi dormite_ , baby," he bungles.

"No!"

"What, 'no'? I said it."

"She means, 'no, that was much too pedestrian'." Martin smirks. "Love. _Pla-ci-de-que. . ."_

" _Placideque quiescas!_ " says Dina, exerting precisely no effort at all.

"Mercy," breathes Orpheus. " _Pla-ci-que_ —"

"No, Pa! _Placideque quiescas! Placideque_ _quiescas!_ _Placi—_ "

"OK, Dina. _Pla. . .ci. . .q—uh—de. . .que. . .quie-scas._ "

"That was really bad," says Dina gravely.

Martin doubles over with helpless laughter.

"I'm afraid it's the best you're going to get out of me," replies Orpheus, elbowing him soundly. "Good night, Dina-Bina." He kisses her forehead.

"Good night, Pa. Good night, Papa."

Orpheus takes the lantern in hand and, before he carries it with him out the door, casts a glance around the room—tacked with Dina's drawings, wax crayons and charcoal, finger-paints; the little high-edged cot; the books on the shelf all hand-picked by Pa and Papa; the carpet, an old soft sheepskin, a gift from Martin's mother. Dina herself, watching him with big, regardful eyes. He smiles back as he eases the door shut.


End file.
